


The Professional

by longlivethelourry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Powerbottom!Harry, Riding, blowjob, office!AU, top!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longlivethelourry/pseuds/longlivethelourry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably really unprofessional for Louis to have these feelings about his new boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Orginally posted on my tumblr, twoshipstied, ages ago.
> 
> This is mildly embarrassing because my writing style has changed a lot, and I think I used the phrase "lustful passion" but, I'm still proud of it because my god there is not enough bottom!harry riding fics in this fandom. 
> 
> Leave me things and I'll love you. (: xx

The alarm clock rang with an alarming fever at the too early hour of seven in Louis Tomlinson’s dusty but newly inhabited flat. Having only moved from Doncaster to London two weeks ago, many of his belongings were still only displayed in several cardboard boxes, hastily pushed against the hall walls. Begrudgingly, the boy with tan skin and ocean water eyes tore himself from the one aspect of his new living situation that was completely unpacked and home-like: his bed.

 

Stretching his arms highly above his head, Louis allowed his feet to touch the ground, toes twinkling briefly before they padded their way into the small attached bathroom. The twenty-five year-old plunged into his morning grooming as quickly as he could, strangely eager for such an early hour.

 

Because, yeah, Louis was not really a morning person. He was normally the person who hit his snooze button fifteen times, rushed out of his flat, only to find that his shirt was on inside out or he had forgotten something vital.

 

Yet, today was different. Today was new. Today was the start of his new job, a job he dreamed of since finishing UNI those three years back.

 

Okay. So maybe being the assistant to the executive assistant to the Vice President in Charge of Talent at URMUSIC, London’s up and coming record label, was not exactly how he saw his life turning out - after all, he was hoping to be signed not doing the signing - but it was a start. Working close to his desired industry had to be better than living with his mum and working at one of Doncaster’s Tescos.

 

Twenty-eight minutes later, Louis was rushing out of his flat, fruit bar sandwiched between his lips, hair pushed stylishly to the side, and clad in sensible black pants, a white collar shirt, black braces, and starch white Toms (he hated fancy footwear). He was satisfied that his appearance would make him look professional, orderly, and maybe even a splash stylish.

 

With the assistance of London’s speedy public transit, he was nearly late for his first day, scrambling about again with five minutes to spare (and on a first day, that was late). He went up the twenty-two flights via elevator, and when the doors opened to reveal his part of the very large office, he was met with warm, brown eyes that were only slightly touched with a mixture of disappointment and sternness.

 

"You’re late," the boy said, arms holding a big folder over his pressed blue shirt, which, void of any wrinkles, was tucked smartly into grey trousers. He handed Louis the packet before turning on his heel and walking further into the heart of the office.

 

"Sorry, mate. Transit, you know? It won’t happen again, promise" Louis said, mouth fumbling a bit out of unease. The boy stopped in front of him, giving him a quick once-over before locking eyes.

 

"Good," was all he offered, but apparent fondness clouded into his orbs, and Louis knew then and there that he would get along with this guy.

 

"I’m Louis - I didn’t say before." he explained balancing the full folder on his left arm to extend the right.

 

"Liam" the boy -Liam, supposedly- replied curtly, taking his hand briefly. Louis smiled.

 

"Right!" Liam said, clapping his hands together, and glancing at the clock hanging from the adjacent wall. "Okay, so, He will be here in about nine minutes, so this will have to be done quickly. This is your desk -" his fingers pointed to a small black desk with an equally as cube-shaped white chair, "This is mine." his gesture moved to a slightly bigger white desk with black chair parallel to and of the same style of the first desk. His hand moved again, this time pointing to a large corner office that their desks were placed in front of, he continued, "This is Mr. Styles’ office. Obviously, you work for me, and since I work for him, you do,too.

 

"First and foremost do what he asks, and then listen to me. It’s the kind of thing where if he instructs you to jump, you have to jump higher than he wants you too, just to make sure you cover all of your bases. The thing about Mr.Styles’ is that he’s pretty quiet, and really enjoys his time alone, and that makes him relatively easy to work for. But the thing is, he is our superior, and he has the ability to fire us at will, so we must do whatever is necessary to see that he is accommodated as percisely as possible. And, yeah. Just a few tips, then: the bloke who had this job before me told me t never look him in the eyes, and to this day, I haven’t. I know it sounds dumb, but the guy obviously had reasons, so maybe you shouldn’t look in his eyes either. He takes his coffee black, and prefers Turkish over French press, and he enjoys daily hot towel for his face. Oh, and for a man his age and stature, he has a blatant obsession for gummy bears…shit!”

 

Liam’s curse shook Louis out of his mental not taking comma like splashing ice water on someone who is sleeping.

 

"What is it? What is it?" Louis asked, a bit desperate for knowledge, and very confused.

 

"Shit. I forgot his gummies, and we only have-" his eyes darted to his watch, "four minutes until he gets here, and I still need to pour his coffee and put the ratings sheet in a new folder and-"

 

"Liam"

 

"and he needs the window open to the east, not the west -"

 

"Liam!" Louis tried again, more forcibly, placing his hands over the other boy’s mouth.

 

"Listen, can we get the bears, here?"

 

"It’s too late, Louis. We won’t have time-"

 

"What floor is the vending machine on, and what kind does he like?"

 

"Haribo, and it’s on the seventh floor, but -" Liam responded, offhandedly, but before another word could be spoken, Louis had taken off, sprinting down the hall to the lift, catching it seconds before it closed.

 

When he again reached his office’s floor five minutes later, his hands clutched several bags of Haribos, and he was praying to the God above that Mr. Styles would miraculously be late.

 

He wasn’t.

 

Conveniently, Liam was on the phone when Louis came by, signaling sheepishly for him to enter the looming office of his new big boss for the very first time.  
Taking a deep and steadying breath, Louis tried o remember his brief orientation as his palm laid on the door and pushed it open.

 

Black coffee…hot towels…don’t look him in the eyes…

 

The office he walked in was nothing short of beautiful. The simple contrasts of black and white gave the room a modern feel, while the bean bag chairs which sat comfortably on the floor made it relaxed and home-like. That sight alone made the muscles in Louis’ back ease slightly form his anxiety. The next thing he saw was an over sized white desk in the far end of the room, and a black swivel chair far bigger than the one at his own desk, which was clearly occupied. Louis felt a few of his muscles re-tense.

 

The chair’s occupant - obviously his new boss - made an audible coughing noise, as if signaling to Louis, who was simply standing in frozen contemplation, to speak.

 

"H-hi," Louis began tentatively. The chair still did not spin around.

 

"I’m Louis, Louis Tomlinson. The new assistant of Liam, and, erm, you" Louis spluttered, and God did achieve a miracle then by strengthening his feet enough to take a large step toward the desk, albeit uncertainly.

 

A beat of silence spread though the room, awkwardness penetrating ever corner and bathing into every surface. Then, finally, the chair spun around, revealing the man he would be working under for hopefully a very long time.

 

To say Louis was mildly surprised would have been an understatement. The man in front of him, from what he could see, wore jeans and a band tee shirt, covered by a blazer, and not what Louis would have had assumed would be a three piece suit. Louis was not greeted with ash tinted, prune-like skin. Instead he saw very pale skin that possessed no wrinkles and looked like solidified milk. Moreover, instead of the cheesy comb-over, or expensive but still ridiculous toupee that Louis was sure would be adorned onto his new employer’s head, he was shocked with thick, coffee colored hair that formed itself into bundles of loose noodle-like curls.

 

Mr.Styles was young, and he seemed normal and, there was no point in denying he was attractive. He was so unlike this hybrid of the woman from Devil Wears Prada and Mr.Roger’s that Louis had created in his head. He was just…very fit.  
"I’m Harry," the man greeted simply in his low voice, and shit.

 

Now, generally speaking, Louis liked breaking rules; he got a rush out of doing exactly opposite of his instructions, actually. But on a job, he tried to play on the straight and narrow. This was his future and livelihood after all. So, when Liam told him not to look his boss in the eyes, he had no intention of actually doing so.

 

But, it just kind of happened.

 

And suddenly it made entire sense why Liam’s predecessor told him not to look in the guy’s eyes. Not because he was actually Medusa, and Louis was now a stone statue, no. But because if you even a slightly gay bone in your body, a single glance at Mr. Styles’ -Harry’s - forest green orbs would have you singing show tunes and sashaying in no time, stereotypically speaking, of course.

 

And for Louis, who definitely had more than one gay bone in his petite body - one specifically that had great interest - the effect was even more daunting.

 

Swallowing and tearing away from their locked gaze, Louis cleared his throat, before forcing his tongue into awkward speech. “Hi…erm, right.” He let out another cough, and moved another step towards the desk, grabbing the glass bowl with a few remaining gummy bears, mumbling something that sounded like “Haribo”, and tried to ignore he feeling of his boss’s eyes on his face.

 

Louis ripped open a bag, and made to pour it into the square bowl.

 

He missed.

 

He missed very, very badly actually, with only half the bag’s contents reaching their destination and the other half landing haphazardly across the surface of the white desk.

 

"Shit, Mr.Styles, I’m so sorry. Shit, and I’m sorry for swearing too. Shit." Louis rambled, hands flying to rectify his mistake when he suddenly heard loud, boisterous laughter, and felt two large hands placed on top of his own, effectively preventing them from their panicked ministrations.

 

"It’s Harry," he said, locking eyes again, and this time, Louis could not even deny the swell of tingling butterflies in his stomach and all of the other cliche RomCom gooey feelings that he experienced.

 

One of the big - fucking huge, Louis thought - hands left his, and plucked a gummy bear off the desk before tossing it into his mouth. “It’s fine, really, Lou.” He said, and Louis visibly swallowed, trying to fight the blood rushing again to his cheeks. Pulling his hand out from underneath his boss’, Louis managed a “Okay, thanks.” before scampering out of the room, too afraid of what would happen if he stayed in that room any longer.

 

Because this was his new job. A new job that gave him a chance to be a part of the industry and field of his dreams. He could not mess this up, for anything - it would probably be his only chance and he needed to portray himself as the ideal music executive (even if he was only an assistant): thoughtful, ambitious, hip, and, above all, professional.

 

But professionalism was going to be hard to achieve when he had the hots for his boss, wasn’t it?  
—  
Surprisingly, work was not too difficult for the next two weeks. Louis prepared Harry’s coffee every morning, and learned to take a train ten minutes earlier, to, er, kind of avoid seeing his boss and the inevitable conversation that would leave his cheeks tomato-red and his skin flushed hot under his collar, because really, Louis thought, everything about him was cute.

 

Under normal circumstance, liking someone like Harry would have been no issue for the tan twenty five year old. Harry seemed charming even with his slow speech, and ambitious, and witty. Louis would have unabashedly flirted with someone who had half the characteristics that Harry’s had. If the circumstances were different, he probably would have already felt the other boy’s pillowy lips on his own.  
Alas, though, circumstances weren’t different. Mr. Styles was Louis’ boss and Louis would not cross that line. He couldn’t cross that line. Louis would control himself, no matter how bad his urges were to card his fingers through the luscious locks, or feel the different in their hand size. He would be good. He would be professional, even if that meant he did not stray from Liam and his overly attentive instructions.  
It would have all been fine. Everything would have all been okay. That is, if Liam had not screwed it all up.

 

"I have to go out of town. My Nana’s really taken ill, and she needs me. You’ll do fine by yourself for the week. My mates Niall and Zayn work upstairs if you get desperate."

 

And just like that, with a click of his suitcase, he was gone.  
—-  
Louis followed Liam’s instructions precisely: coffee three times a day, appointments between one and three everyday, gummy bears, and warm towels and everything. All the i’s were dotted, and the t’s were crossed.

 

It ran smoothly, as Louis only faced Harry for a few minutes a day; like on Monday, when Harry had fallen asleep with a warm towel on his head in a bean chair and nearly missed his meeting; or Tuesday, when Harry’s stomach was off and Louis brought him green tea and ginger; or Wednesday when Harry spilled coffee on the trends chart, and Louis had to get a new copy for him.

 

It was minimal exchanges and although Louis replayed those moments several times in his head, it was probably best that they did not last long - at least if Louis’ professionalism would remain intact.

 

On Thursday, though, his interaction with Harry was different. It was midday, and Louis was bringing in his pipping hot cup of black coffee, setting it on the stark white desk besides his boss, whose fingers were latched firmly into his hair. When Louis went to retreat from the room, he heard a groan escape the soft lips, and immediately turned on his heel.

 

"Are you alright, Mr.Styles?"

 

"It’s Harry, and no. No, not really." Harry said dryly, grabbing the coffee hastily, and effectively spilling a small pool onto his desk.

 

"Anything I can do?" Louis offered, already sweeping up the spill with a napkin quickly.

 

Harry studied him for a moment, green eyes tracing the curve of Louis’ face, and the soft edge of his jaw. Seemingly coming to a bewildering conclusion, he nodded.

 

"Actually, yeah. Yes."

 

Louis perked up, arching an eyebrow slightly, encouraging his employer to elaborate.

 

"Stay late tonight. With me, I mean. I have so much work, and I really could use the extra help."

 

It was a request, not a command or an order from employer to employee, Louis knew that. But with Harry looking at him like that - stressed and worried, and slightly pleading, how was Louis to refuse?

 

So he didn’t.

 

It was a part of his job as an assistant to assist, right?  
—  
At five o’clock, the rest of the office dissipated, all consumed in the rush to go home, make dinner and watch television.

 

The custodian mad it’s round about the office and Louis sat at his desk, doing busy work and waiting for Harry to request his help (even as he thought about of it, he could not help but think that sounded really dirty).

 

When the church bells down the street rang seven o’clock, as if on cue Harry emerged from the private part of his office. He had changed into a white shirt and grey sweatpants from what he had been wearing earlier (Louis bit down the part of his mind that wanted to lick the skin that showed when his shirt rode up).

 

"Hey. Shall we get some food?" Harry asked warmly, the question stirring the hunger out of Louis’ stomach.

 

Fast forward another thirty minutes, and Chinese take away dishes scattered every available surface in Harry’s office. Both boys lounged on bean bags, charts within reach, but not yet looked at as they ate till their heart’s content.  
Sometimes later, Louis broke the silence that was strangely comfortable.

 

"Hm. Good thought on the dumplings…Where should we start?"

 

"Erm, well…we need to look through this stack of charts and that stack of reports, and then we can actually listen to some music. You can choose your first dose of poison; Charts or reports?"

 

"Reports, I guess," Louis answered, mostly because the reports were closer in distance to him.

 

"Suit yourself."Harry replied, grabbing the charts, and once again filling the room with silence as the boys delved into their work.

 

More time passed, and the boys had switched stacks or papers. Their eye lids felt a bit heavy from overuse and slight exhaustion, but they trudged onwards. That is, until Harry decided he had enough.

 

"Alright. I’m done with that," he sighed, moving the report of his lap and onto the table with a small thud. Louis looked relieved at the news, too tired to continue reading the boring material in still silence.

 

Harry walked towards his desk, and grabbed the seven demo disks he need to critique. Before moving to the stereo as Louis had anticipated, he went to the small fridge located underneath is desk, and emerged with a few bottles clutched in his mammoth hands.

 

"You want one?" he motioned towards Louis, who was surprised, yet very fond of the idea. Surely it was professional to be polite and take a well-intentioned gift from your boss, right?

 

Accepting the beer, and using the opener on his keys to open both his and Harry’s bottles, and his boss placed the first CD inside the player.

 

"Right, so, we just need to listen and see if this bloke is worth signing. if he’ll make the company money or whatnot." Harry explained, taking the beer with a nod of thanks.

 

The first musician was not all the bad; a girl sang accompanied by a strong band. The contrast between her soft, airlike voice and the boom of the band was appealing. Yet, the cryptic lyrics she recited were really, Louis thought, what would make her popular.

 

The second artist was terrible. It made Louis twist and twinge and wish he had never heard of the word music. Artists three and four, both of which were boybands sounded identical, to the point where Louis was unsure where on CD ended and another one began. Five was a very young teenage boy who sang very impressive Jazz standards, and mastered the art of scat improvisation. Six was an instrumental Irish folk group.

 

The Seventh group they listened to was much different that the others. It had an interesting mix of sounds, somehow incorporating a middle eastern feel and a techno-esque beat that actually sounded good. Harry enjoyed it too, Louis could tell, as his head bobbed along, and feet tapped the floor.

 

Having finished his second beer, Louis moved his was over to the desk, body moving to the music as he picked up another dumpling - because who knew these were so good?

 

And then he felt it. Felt warmth touch his still moving hips, and felt the tickle of hair on his neck and the pressure of a body pressed into his.

 

He was frozen in shock for a minute, until he felt something else. Something not unlike a pillow in density, but slightly wet and very warm touch his neck gingerly: lips.

 

Harry’s lips.

 

Louis pressed back into the embrace, for a moment becoming consumed with the enjoyment and pleasure he felt. The tingling sensation which seemingly pulsed from Harry’s body into his own, spread through every limb and extremity. Leaning his head slightly backwards in half-aware hope to catch a glimpse of grass green, Louis locked eyes with Harry, and was effectively brought out of his dreamlike state. Because the looming reality was that Mr.Styles was his boss, and this behavior was not professional. And that thought alone crept on to his skin, burdening him with a rash of worry too sobering for his liking.

 

"Harry," he said, apprehension audible in his softness.

 

But before he verbalize his warning, the pillows left their previous home on his collarbone and after one fleeting look at Louis’ face, crushed into the smaller boy’s lips, removing the air from his lungs.

 

It was not soft; it was not rough. It was passionate, full of considerable patience and thickly coated in need. As their mouths worked with each other, thoughts of right or wrong slowly dissipated from Louis’ mind. When the kiss broke with a pop a moment later, both boys breathless, Louis clutching the desk in front of him to ensure his jelly legs would not give out.

 

Barely after a second to breathe, Louis already felt hands dancing along his sides enticingly.

 

"Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop," Harry stated, staggering breath yet again caressing the dips of Louis’ neck and collar.

 

He couldn’t answer, could not lie and say that he did not love every touch from the boy so close to him, no matter how unprofessional or wrong it might have been.

 

So he didn’t.

 

Instead, he turned around quickly drawing the pleasantly startled man into him, connecting their lips once again, firmly. Harry welcomed the kiss with a slight moan, easing his tongue into his assistant’s mouth. After kissing for a moment, Louis’ fingers nimbly tucking into Harry’s locks, his boss reached behind him, clearing a small portion of the desk off in one long swipe of his arm, while the other remained grasping the curve of Louis’ waist.

 

With a space on the desk now clear, Harry lifted Louis on to the surface the tan boy instantaneously wrapping his toned legs around him. Harry pushed into the touch, their mouths still working together in the same slow movement of passion, his fingers crawling underneath Louis’ shirt, taking it from the boy’s body until it flung to the floor, forgotten.

 

The ache of necessity coiling in his stomach, Harry slowly laid Louis backwards, on the desk. Gravity pressed his weight in Louis, and both boys became hyper aware of the prominent hard bulge in both pairs of trousers.

 

Louis, craving friction, began grinding upwards into Harry’s groin, coaxing another wonderful moan from the broader boy’s pleasant lips. Harry reciprocated the movement, bringing his own hips down, creating a sultry rhythm that easily matched the second track of group Seven’s CD. Moving one of his hands from where they were rested on Louis’ shoulder, he walked his finger tips downward, nimble thumb flicking the button open. Louis gave a gasp of consciousness, the shock drawing him out from his previous state of mind - one that had only included red lips and pale skin and green eyes.

 

"Harry…" Louis said, and his partner responded with a kiss to the jaw. "No, Harry. Are you sure about this?" Louis asked, willing his voice to sober from the Harry-induced-intoxication to convey his serious worry.

 

"I really could not be more sure," Harry promised, green eyes sincere as he drew his closer again, accentuating his point.

 

"Really? Because I work for you, Harry, and how can you know this is a good idea and- " Louis’s babbling was disconnected by a kiss, halting his worry.

 

"You talk too much" Harry reasoned, mouth once again caressing the skin of Louis’ neck and chest, as his hands lowered both the pants and trousers of the now nearly silent man below him. Because really, that was all Louis had needed to hear.  
Harry’s mouth trailed down, leaving a pathway of moisten skin before his too-sure hands relinquished their stroking in way of his mouth.

 

It was all Louis could do but to bite back a moan, and rest of his forearms, eagerly watching as Harry’s plump lips encircled the tip, tongue teasing the slit. Skillfully, Harry’s tongue licked up and down and down and up Louis’ shaft, the hardened limb becoming more and more moistened not only by Harry’s saliva, but by the beads of precum drizzling from the tip - a direct byproduct of Harry’s antics. And then, before Louis could even contemplate the sheer force of pleasure that coursed through him from Harry’s licks, he felt a strong heat consume him as Harry’s mouth encased his cock. He began to bob his head up and down at a steadily increasing pace and depth, his tongue still playing an active role, as it shallowly licked and dipped. When he felt his cock hit the back of the boy’s head, once, twice, three fucking times, Louis knew he needed to give the boy warning because fuck, if he could take him like that, there was no way Louis was going to last much longer.

 

"Harry, ngh, Harry… Not gunna…not gunna last." Louis managed, and a few quick bobs later, the boy in question popped his head up, wiping his mouth slightly as he peered at Louis with blown pupils, still seething with mischief.

 

"Fuck," Louis said again; it was the only word he could justify using at this moment.

 

And then Harry looked at him slightly innocently, and strangely it just turned Louis on more.

 

"Louis…can I…can I….I want to ride you." Harry mustered out, peculiarly embarrassed for someone who was so fantastic at giving head.

 

"Yes, fuck, yes." Louis managed, again practicing his eloquent speech.  
Louis moved forward slightly, yanking down Harry’s sweatpants earnestly, as Harry, whose uncertainty had vanished at Louis’ excitement, flicked off his own shirt. Once naked, Harry rested himself on top of Louis, who was laying down on top of his desk. He reached over to one of the drawer’s of his desk, pushing himself down into Louis a little too hard for it to be unintentional, as he grabbed the lubricant from his desk. His hand lingered.

 

“‘S okay if we don’t use a condom? I like to feel it, and, erm, I know your clean…” Harry asked, uncertainty attempting its crawl back on to his skin.

 

Louis soothed it over as his lips released an uncontrollable moan and his mouth place kissed along the reachable part of Harry’s arm.

 

Closing the drawer, Harry came back to his steady position on top of Louis, and could not resist closing the space between them and joining their lips together for another deep kiss.

 

Silently, as the kiss still lingered, Harry grabbed Louis’ right hand, carefully coating it’s digits in lubricant. Louis was surprised at first when the liquid hit his fingers, but realization dawned on him, and confused was quickly overturned by lustful passion.  
Somewhat reluctantly, Harry withdrew from the kiss, and eased himself to an angle that would allow Louis’ hand to open him.

 

Louis brought a finger up the pink entrance, and tentatively circled the rim with his lubed digit before pushing in to the knuckle on his index finger. Harry let out a hiss of excitement, which convinced Louis to withdraw a bit, only to re-enter in a slow in and out pattern. Not too long after, with vocal courage from his boss, Louis added another finger to the equation, and began scissoring Harry to a wider open. Normally, Louis would have suggested three fingers, but Harry had different ideas.

 

"Ah, Louis, I’m ready." and that apparently decided it, because the next thing Louis knew, Harry was coating his still stiff cock in lubricant with skilled fingers.   
Harry moved to place his knees on either side of Louis’ body, and moved downward in another swooping kissing. It was like Louis’ kisses were drugs, and Harry had become quickly an addict, desperate for the taste of the firm and thin and pretty lips of his assistant.

 

And then, Harry moved in another sweeping motion, effectively settling on Louis’ dick, slowly in palling himself.

 

They didn’t move. Not because Harry needed to adjust, because although he was no where near a slut, he had done this before. They didn’t move because the feeling of being filled and the feeling of filling someone was nice in and of itself. It was whole, it was complete, it was no doubt arousing and, no matter how many instants this has happened before, the feeling is astoundingly, shockingly good.  
Soon, though, the mutual carnal need to move became too much, and as Louis bucked his hips forward, Harry raised his off, before moving himself down again on Louis, setting a hard and relatively slow pace. Needing something to grasp onto, to keep himself steady, Harry grabbed Louis’ hands, intertwining their fingers, and leaning the upper half of his body down onto the tan boy’s palm as he continued riding him.

 

Louis couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t Harry - anything that was not the forbidden green eyes he was instructed never too look at or the feeling of his cock being consumed in tight heat everytime the man moved down, and just when he thought he would be lost in this consistently slow pattern that was completely comfortable and satisfying, he felt his boss switch his movement, angling his hips a bit more forward and that’s when things changed.

 

"Oh" Harry exclaimed, his eyes shooting open and then squeezing tight, and Louis knew that he must have located his sweet spot. Regaining himself, he moved his hips up again, this time quicker to find that desired spot again, and when he did, the moan that poured openly from his throat only spurred Louis on more, bringing him closer to climax.

 

Harry moved with purpose now, his rhythm having built itself up to this point he was at now - slamming himself down onto Louis in deep and quick thrusts, loving the pressure of Louis’ cock on that spot that created white spots in his vision.  
Harry squeezed his bum slightly, creating more pressure on Louis’ member, and bringing him even closure to release. At this point, Louis couldn’t help but thrust upward into the beautiful boss above him, meeting his ministrations half way.  
Both boys chased their climaxes, each wishing the other to release first with purpose of politeness, but both realizing they could not hold on very much longer. A slew of expletives left Louis’ mouth, while Harry moan incoherently at the feeling of it all.

 

Eventually it was Louis who reached first, spilling into Harry without much warning (not that the other boy minded, really), unable to dictate himself when it dawned on him that Harry’s noise were for him.

 

Two thrusts down later, and Harry was coming hotly on Louis chest, clenching around his spent cock, making the boy’s orgasm that much more pleasant.  
They were both tired, and panting, and just like in the beginning, neither of them moved, too consumed with their breathing patterns and the sex they had had to function for a moment, until Harry limply removed himself and grabbed a towel from the hot towel hamper to wipe them off.

 

Harry pushed Louis over to the bean bag area from the now vastly askew desk, and crumpled besides his assistant, body seeking a new kind of comfort from the boy.

 

They rested in silence, the room only full of the sounds of their steadying hearts, laboured breaths, and mindless ticking of the clock. It was so still, in fact, that Harry had thought Louis had fallen asleep. That is, until he spoke.

 

"I’m sorry." he whispered.

 

"For what?" Harry wondered, voice full of confusion.

 

"For not being very professional," Louis said: it may have have sounded stupid, but really what honest employee fucks their boss?

 

"Me too, then, because I definitely wanted you since day one - and not just sexually." Harry murmured, his demeanor again ridden with anxiety.

 

"You did?"

 

"Yeah" he said simply, burring his burning cheekbones further into the tan boy’s skin.

 

Louis thought back to his first day here; the gummy bears, the black swivel chair and the white desk (that he just had sex on), the hot towels, and crappy transit, but mostly just green eyes.

 

"Me too," he answered honestly.

 

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that what he was doing probably considered improper work place etiquette and was probably a fire able offense. It did not matter if he was being a professional.

 

Because he felt safe and warm and comfortable falling asleep stark nude on a bean bag chair in his place of employment, and he would be lying if he said it had nothing to do with his boss curled into his side.


End file.
